A '57 Vincent And A RedHeaded Boy
by Icarus
Summary: What's that' Ron shouted over the noise. It was long, sleek and black, and purred like a wildcat. Male-bonding, motorcycles and bad boys. Sirius takes Ron for a wild ride.


A '57 Vincent And A Red-Headed Boy

by Icarus

The noise was like a dragon sleeping, maybe even snoring. It sputtered and suddenly died out with a snort. Ron hung his head out the tiny window of his bedroom and peered into the sunset, scanning for the source. But there was nothing in the sky, and all he could see below was Sirius Black's dark head bent over some Muggle contraption. 

Sirius threw something heavy that clanked, and swore, long and fluently. That certainly raised Ron's eyebrows. It was a good thing everyone was out, or he'd be on the stiff end one of his mum's Mellifluous Charms, unable to speak anything but poetry until she chose to take it off. She'd probably leave it on him longer too, with her swipes at Sirius 'reclaiming lost youth' and 'acting like a Sixth Year.' But Sirius was fun. Well, usually.

Ron leaned out a little further and decided to risk it. "Need some help down there?"

The only response was some more curses, louder this time. Ron swung his T-shirt over his shoulder and decided to do this in person.

Halfway down the darkened stairs of the Burrow, that thunderous sound roared to life again. It was definitely on the ground, and it seemed the entire house rattled and shook. Ron kicked the front door open, skipped around the loose board on the porch and was just in time to see the garden gnomes scatter. Huh. Too bad Sirius couldn't do that every night.

Sirius didn't seem to notice the gnomes. He stood, straddled, over some rumbling Muggle machine, grinning from ear to ear. 

"What's that?" Ron shouted over the noise. It was long, sleek and black, and purred like a wildcat. Chrome jutted out at all angles, and it looked plainly dangerous. Ron hovered close in fascination, almost, but not quite touching it.

It was beautiful.

"This?" Sirius answered. His smile was incandescent. "_This_ is the sole reason Muggles exist, the greatest invention of all time and the envy of Hogwarts '78. It's called a 'motorcycle.' More specifically, a 1957 Vincent Shadow, with a few of my, ahem, personal modifications -- but don't mention that to your father." 

He kicked at something under the machine, and it clunked forward a bit. The front wheel met the ground and Ron stepped back.

"Oh, Dad wouldn't get you in trouble. He'd probably just want to take it apart and see how it works."

"Yeah. That would be the problem." He patted the seat in front of him, and slid back an inch or so. "Let's try her out. Hop on."

Ron hesitated with the natural caution of a younger brother. He could feel the vibration hum like a magical field. "Will it bite?" He eyed it suspiciously.

"Only if I tell it to," Sirius laughed. "Come on! I've dreamed of this day from the moment I left that bloody hellhole." Ron nodded, and belatedly started to struggle into his shirt, but Sirius walked the machine a little closer and made it roar again in impatience, rocking it back a few steps. Ron gave up on the shirt and stuffed it into his belt. 

"Throw a leg over. It's like an oversized broom. Mind, watch the exhaust -- it'll melt your leg right off."

Ron had no idea what an 'egg-zaust' was, but didn't fancy melting _or_ getting egg all over himself. He was tall enough to swing over fairly easily, surprisingly. 

"It took forever to get her back in shape," Sirius explained in a loud voice into the nape of his neck as Ron found two small footrests. "Twelve years worth of maintenance…." Muscular arms braced Ron on either side, and Sirius began to walk the 'motorcycle' forward. It certainly was slow. "Hagrid's good with wild beasts like this lady," he patted the seat next to Ron's hip, "but he's no mechanic."

"Well. Are you ready?" He asked. Ron shrugged.

He was suddenly thrown back into Sirius' chest with a _thump _and a yell and they jerked to a stop. 

"Hold on there!" Sirius snorted. "You said you were ready."

"Hey, warn me next time!" Ron fired back over his shoulder.

Sirius laughed. "Don't let her bulk fool you. This monster's fast, and she'll kick you like a unicorn -- though she's no virgin, I'll tell you that much." He exchanged a naughty man's smile with the boy perched in front of him -- who grinned back with perfect appreciation of the crude joke; clearly no boy.

That test of manhood passed, Sirius said, with elaborate courtesy, "If you think you're ready, princess…." 

Ron's response was perfectly unprintable. 

Laughter sparkled in their eyes. Sirius slowly turned and aimed the Shadow down the Weasley driveway.

Thighs squeezed the sweaty leather seat; one man's fist twisted, and then steadily opened up the throttle -- 

-- and the next moment scattered chickens, a cloud of insects, and woke a clamouring Ghoul-in-the-attic as the two men roared down the driveway with identical war whoops, Ron's rusty baritone mixing with Sirius' booming roar. 

They turned onto the lane. And went faster. 

Wind shuddered through Ron's short wavy hair and whipped Sirius' into a frenzy as they leaned into a turn; Sirius curved towards the ground, steady and calmly confident, while Ron leaned against it for a moment, then followed his lead. Their sweat cooled as they pressed together, melded with the power of the machine, solid in a way no broom ever was. 

The trembling beast beneath them roared back the way they'd come. The dot of the Burrow became house-shaped again and quickly grew. Bushes, trees, signs, leaped to either side of them, left behind in their roostertail of dust as they ate some of what they'd kicked up on the way out.

"You ready for some real speed?" Sirius shouted into the teeth of the wind. Ron's voice was snatched away, but his emphatic nod was clear.

At a word from Sirius they shot forward, blindingly fast, the world a blur; the Burrow sprang up and was gone, whisked away. Then the rumbling feel of the road suddenly ceased beneath them, and they soared into the breathless cool silence of the muggy summer air. 

A reverent smile crossed Ron's face. He glanced back, and saw that knowing look in his comrade's eyes. Yes. Sirius understood.

~*~*~

Ron walked out of the Muggle convenience store swinging two six-packs of beer, the pavement hard and strange beneath his feet. He was used to cobblestones, or dirt. His arm cradled a bag of unfamiliar food that Sirius had described to him very carefully, and he jingled a pocketful of change he could only hope was correct. Ron was at sea with shillings and whatnot. Sirius didn't quite dare show his face even in the Muggle world -- not in England anyway. He was yesterday's news, but why take chances?

They were going to camp out tonight, since they were too far and too tired to go back. 

"Your mum won't mind," Sirius said with a careless wave. "We'll just explain in the morning. I used to camp out all the time."

Ron knew just how much she _would_ mind, with terrifying, bug-eyed certainty. But he also thought of her constant reminders lately, to clean his room, to put on a shirt, brush his hair, when did those trousers rip and _can't-you-be-more-careful_? Since Percy's defection the forgotten son was suddenly in Percy's vacated spotlight. He began to understand Bill's earring and long hair, why Charlie moved so far -- and even Percy's politics. Okay, maybe he wouldn't go _that_ far. But he didn't feel nearly as guilty as he ought to for worrying her, and in fact his chest filled with a breath of new-found freedom.

And the beer was a definite plus. 

He swallowed the consequences and consigned his coming doom to the distant future, one that would happen to some other Ron he'd never met. In the dusk he held up the beer to Sirius in triumph. 

Sirius was a dark smudge against the dun-coloured road, that detached from the darker motorcycle in the twilight. Seeing Ron (and the beer), he barked and howled like a dog, both his fists in the air. Ron grinned, laughed and loped a little faster. 

~*~*~

The fire crackled and sparked, glistening off the chrome of the motorbike and weaving shadows about them. Ron sat down with his back to a tree and reached for one of the beers, but Sirius snatched it away.

"Nope," he said. "Lesson number one: never drink on an empty stomach. The hangover's not worth it. Lesson number two: never drink fast. Now if you get us some more firewood, I'll get some food started." 

"Sure, Sirius. You cook dinner," Ron answered, making sure he was out reach first, "I'll do all the _man's_ work around here." Sirius snarled and threw a stick at his retreating back.

Not long after, Ron returned and dropped the firewood with a loud clatter, swearing at Sirius. He was sprawled casually at the base of the tree with one leg pulled up, and had two empty beer bottles at his feet. He'd already started his third. Sirius grinned at Ron deviously, and wiped foam from his mouth. 

"Damn you, Sirius, what happened to lesson one?"

"Oh, that's abrogated by lesson three: I'm the exception to all rules. The faster you learn that, the better off I'll be." He tried to continue drinking the beer as Ron snatched it out of his hands. It sloshed over both of them. "Hey, hey! Take another, but don't waste it! That's lesson number five… or four… whatever one we're on: never waste beer. Waste money, waste time, but never beer. Now eat dinner first like a good little boy."

"Fuck you," Ron popped the lid open on another and sat down in the hard dirt.

"Your mum would never forgive me."

"She's never gonna forgive you anyway." Ron took a long swig of his beer. "I don't think she likes you much. Says you're irresponsible."

Sirius leaned back in the crook of his arm, with a satisfied smile and a sigh. "Can't imagine where she got that impression." 

Ron belched and gestured with his bottle. "Besides, you're forgetting lesson number five."

"I think we're on six." 

Ron squinted, then shook his head briefly. "Lesson number _five_," he barreled ahead onto more important matters, "I learn by doing."

"So." Sirius added this up. "You're going to imitate me now, lead a dissolute life, end up face first in a ditch -- and then eventually turn it all around after having learned a terrific lesson?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

Sirius thought about it for a moment, then nodded his acceptance and gestured with his beer. "Glad to be of service. I've always been told I need to set an example.

"-- Speaking of which, did you know I can open one of these bottles with my bellybutton?" 

Ron spluttered, "Now this I've got to see."

~*~*~

Ron woke with his brain thickly fogged, a tree root digging into his back and the ground had turned to stone underneath him -- it wasn't this hard before, he was almost sure. The fire had burned down to a few glowing embers, enough for a little light and nothing else. It was cold in just a T-shirt, everywhere but along his side, and where a heavy, warm weight was flung across his chest. 

He turned his face from a vile fume, the prickle of beard tickling his neck: Sirius smelled like every one of his eight beers. He'd taken full advantage of his head start -- and he didn't follow rule number two either. The sour hollow in Ron's stomach made him wish they'd bothered to make dinner. But they'd been having so much fun, and it seemed a lot of trouble at the time. 

Ron stirred and tried to get comfortable, fuzzily contemplated digging through those bags to see if there was anything he didn't need to cook. Sirius rumbled and growled, and his arm clutched Ron a little tighter, like a teddy bear. Ron got another choking whiff of his breath. And caught the glimmer of half-awake eyes as Sirius drew him in for a sloppy, beer-smelly kiss.

"Wha -?" Ron said, "what was that for?"

Sirius coughed a little. "If you have to ask…." He chuckled in a low, hoarse sleep-filled voice.

"Sirius, you're drunk." 

"Naaaaah. I'm not drunk. A little beer's not enough to do me in. How old are you?"

"Fifteen." 

Sirius peered at him and sat up a bit. His hair was a black, rumpled mass, blue eyes a stark contrast. "You sure? Naaaah. No way."

Ron simply stared at him.

"I mean, you're a real stud, you know that? So fucking tall, tight little arse -- nice big nips, too. You sure you're fifteen? Really?"

"Yeah."

Sirius rolled onto his back and muttered, "of all the luck…." He turned back towards Ron, who was still lost on _'tight arse -- what?'_ and asked. "S'where 'you live?"

Now Ron was certain he was drunk. Absolutely, positively certain. "Same place you do. You're staying with us till you can open up your mum's place -- remember?"

"Oh." Sirius puzzled over this revelation, then leaned closer, conspirationally; the stench of booze really strong at that range. "And do I sleep in your room?"

"No!"

"Well then, I'm an idiot." And he sagged into Ron's chest. Moments later there was a faint snore, and a line of drool made a cold, wet spot on Ron's T-shirt.

Ron just lay there, buzzed, bleary-eyed and confused. Finally he gave up on the food, he could hardly move with Sirius on top of him, and went to sleep.

~*~*~

The day was clear and crisp and just a bit bright. The fire was out completely, and birds twittered in the trees about them. It was a perfect day to be on the road, not too cold, not too hot, with just a breath of wind.

Ron held Sirius' hair back as he leaned forward on all fours -- and retched. 

This was just a dry heave, where the stomach just _wished_ there was more to get rid of; Sirius had already thrown up as much as he was going to. Ron decided philosophically that it was just as well they didn't eat, as it would be all over the forest floor by now. He winced in dread at the thought of starting the motorcycle. The tinny, sharp sounds of the birds were bad enough. 

"Someday," Sirius gasped, wiping his mouth, "you're going to do this for your girlfriend."

"And a proud moment that'll be," Ron quipped a little irritably. "You swore you weren't drunk."

Sirius stood wearily. "I did? I don't remember anything. But I always say that when I'm drunk. The more I deny it, the more you can be sure that I am." He held his head. "I wonder if we have to start the bike. Maybe we can just…" he made a walking motion with his fingers, "walk it back."

"Long walk," Ron observed, shielding his eyes against the painfully bright sun. He weighed the benefit of avoiding his mum just a little longer, against her increased fury every minute he was gone. 'I Was With Sirius' wasn't exactly looking like much of a defense. Sirius staggered a bit, knocking aside one of the bottles with a _clink_.

"One thing is for sure," Sirius grinned impishly at him. "It won't be a boyfriend whose hair you'll be holding."

Ron flushed with humiliation. Did Sirius remember? In the morning he'd caught up with all Sirius had said and done -- with his face in his hands and eyes squeezed shut. What kind of idiot gets _kissed_ even, and doesn't realise someone's making a pass at them? 

"Why do you say that?" Ron asked, a little defensively.

"Because if you were queer, you'd've buggered me when you had half a chance."

"What makes you think I didn't?" 

Ron meant it as a joke, but his irritation with Sirius crept through. Perhaps from the wet spot on his T-shirt, his embarrassment, or the uncomfortable night that started as a lark and became something else. Or maybe it was just the threat of his mum's telling off, looming on the horizon.

There was a heartbeat, a moment of silence, where he should have said something, should have laughed, made it a joke, and he didn't. And then it passed.

Sirius quietly began to gather the bottles, their dull clinks somehow muted and careful. Ron winced and tried to say something, but it was too late. Sirius was too proud to say anything, the subject was closed. But despite his bravado, he would believe the worst of himself. Ron knew this all in a flash as they climbed onto the Shadow, in the way Sirius' arms braced gingerly to either side of him, touching him as little as possible. As if he might break. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but couldn't.

For all the roar of the machine, it was a very quiet ride home.

Finis.


End file.
